


Two-Way Parasitism

by smolonde



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-26 21:16:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5020822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolonde/pseuds/smolonde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose and Dave's symbiosis and toxicity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two-Way Parasitism

You swear that kissing Rose Lalonde is like hiding intoxication. The black lipstick all over your face as you wash it away down the sink, feeling a rush of shame. The hickies on your neck, forcing you to hide in your room for days until they fade on your pale skin. The disgust you feel for yourself as your friends look at you with smiles on your faces, not knowing how many bruises you have on under your cape.

And of course, there’s the moment that you’re caught, inevitable yet surprising at the same time.

Your head is thrown back, Rose’s tender kisses on your neck making your head spin.

“We’re so fucked up,” you say between gasps as she makes her way up to your ear. She kisses its shell, making you inhale deeply through your nose.

“Agreed. Yet however fucked up it may be, however selfish we are, neither of us can live without this.” Her voice is low and husky, and she stresses each word with a soft pull on your hair, causing you to gasp louder.

“God, Rose, what’s wrong with us?”

She caresses the side of your face, and you swear her purple gaze touches every part of your body. “We’re self-destructive. We’re egotists and we hate ourselves. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You’re not sure how much time passes while she kisses you into guilty, filthy oblivion. Your mouth catches on syllables somewhere between “Fuck” and “I love you”, though that isn’t true.

And then the door clicks open.

The Mayor is standing in the doorway, his white eyes widening. You and Rose stop cold, her mouth frozen on the hollow of your throat. The Mayor shakes his head, looking confused, and shuts the door. You follow him, yelling his name down the hallway, and you half expect Rose to chase after you. You’re not sure why you’re so disappointed when she doesn’t.

 

Your isolation isn’t anything new, but now you don’t have anyone to share it with. Rose has always been there to kiss away the pain, vodka on her breath. You’ve never heard of transmitted intoxication, but you can almost bet that if you kissed her for long enough, the alcohol would pull you into its grip too. Rose has always been there at your side, through everything. She helped you figure out that Bro wasn’t a good guy and that you’re a lot more fucked up than you thought you were. She died next to you and came back with you, just so neither of you would have to do it alone. You helped her conquer alcoholism, and even though sometimes she relapses, it’s not as bad as it was before. Rose is your savior, your best friend, your closest confidante, and you can’t live without her.

You know she’s hiding out in her room. Last night, you couldn’t sleep, so you leaned against the wall and tried to listen for her, as if there weren’t so many barriers that separated you. You heard some frustrated sighs and the sounds of a pen scratching. Her journal, the only thing she’s ever kept private from you. You would read it, but you respect her too much, and you understand the need for some secrecy on this meteor. Your friends may be cool and all, but trolls have no sense of privacy. Terezi will sometimes come into your room when you’re stark naked and carry on a normal conversation. The lack of privacy here unnerves you a little bit.

You sit in bed for three or four more minutes, hoping for some stroke of lyrical genius that helps to ease your racing brain. It doesn’t work. Your hands twitch, the muscles of your fingers tracing a pattern on your leg, one that you realize maps out the path they’d take through Rose’s hair. You stand up, sighing, open the door, step into the hall, and knock on Rose’s door.

She opens the door, and it takes every ounce of concentration you have not to raise your eyebrows in shock. Rose’s hair is disheveled, her black lipstick smeared across her face, her mascara running. What strikes you most, besides the fact that she’s so different, so abnormally messy, is the smell. Liquor wafts from her breath, and you give a tiny flinch when you see a martini in her hand. You start to speak, but she grabs you by the wrist, slurring.

“Don’t go --- not now, Dave. I need you.”

When she pulls you into a kiss, you give up, sinking into oblivion again.

 

While you lie on your stomach, face down on Rose’s carpet, you realize you’re not going to stop, and she wouldn’t dream of it either. When you kiss her, your problems float away, if only for a moment. You need each other. She needs you when she’s drunk, when she’s angry, when she’s so sick of herself that she can’t be alone. You need her when your memories attack you, when you hear the metal gears of the meteor clang, when you jerk awake from nightmares of seeing your dead selves.

Rose turns to face you, as if you’ve been thinking out loud.

“We can’t go back to the way things were before.”

“I know.”

And you lapse back into silence, taking your shades off to meet her intense gaze.

“I don’t love you, Rose.”

“I don’t expect you to, Dave.”

She grasps your hand, solidarity and strength forming as her fingers connect with yours, until both of you slip into the nothingness of sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> A huge shout-out to @t0talcha0s for helping me think through this.  
> tumblr: transstrilondes


End file.
